The End
by Travithian Axile
Summary: Takes place btn Page 107 and 108. In which a funeral is conducted, and illusions must be left to lie in peace. Oneshot.


Death Note: The End

The night falls, soft and gentle and tentative, coloring the world in somber colors—blues, grays, violets. Raito, in his crisp-cut black suit and tie, immaculate as usual (he has always hated imperfection, as though it'll mar _him,_ by association, blends perfectly into this scene, the gloom blurring the sharp angles of his features into something approaching peace. His skin is silver with moonlight, the roses in his hands white against the dark clothes and darker night. It's all somehow unreal, as though he'll dissipate when touched, a white ghost in shadow.

It is fitting, since he is also dead.

Considering the short notice, Raito's transformation is amazing. His face is soft and young and vulnerable again, as it has never been in his last years of life. For a brief second, his hair catches the glow of the candles and blazes gold, a short-lived halo around the sleeping face. For a moment, it seems as though he'll climb back out of his coffin and demand that everyone get back to work.

…Those days are…over.

He doesn't look dead. He looks even less than Kira, who has built up, over the years, a reputation that brings to mind monstrosity and careless cruelty. Raito looks like a boy, a sweet earnest boy, gone too soon, leaving only memories and grief behind. He has been to the world for the past half decade what bogeymen and monsters under the bed are to children. More so to criminals.

It's all been so confusing. Nobody is right, nobody is wrong. The only certainty is the death of Soichiro Yagami, and it was the only thing to cling to, back when all assurance was gone. A bastion of faith even in death. He died without ever knowing, the only thing to be thankful for.

The man only becomes aware of Sachiko's presence when she comes up behind him and touches him on the arm. She has changed, her smiling plumpness withering over the years into sagging flesh and world-weariness, and she moves slowly, as though it is something that has slipped her mind. Her eyes are sad, and he feels like a traitor. (Raito is screaming, clutching his hand; can you hear?)

"I recognize you," she says, and for a brief moment his heart sinks. "You're one of…Soichiro's friends." A brief pause. "Were…you there?"

He nods reluctantly, and this releases a deluge of questions from the grieving mother. "What really happened? There was only…the letter…why, how…how did my son…Raito…" Her voice trembles, on the brink of tears, and her thin hands twist the fabric of her skirt. "Is it really over?"

He reaches over and touches, very gently, Raito's shoulder, his fingers brushing the young man's face as he withdraws his hand. "…Yes. Kira…he got what he deserved." His own voice shakes dangerously, but it is quickly suppressed and Sachiko never notices, too lost in her anguish, her eyes gazing off into the distance and the memories that are even farther away now. "My only comfort is that…Raito died…believing what he did was right." She smiles quietly now, withdrawing slightly as he flinches at the awful, awful irony. She smiles with a mother's pride, but her eyes are suddenly pools of deep, untouchable sorrow, and he has to look away or scream out the truth.

And that would be cruel, too horribly cruel, to shatter the many illusions and carefully woven lies that Raito has painstakingly created for the rest of the world to see. The Yagami family does not know and they must never know. He envies them, because he knows the truth and it is curdled milk and bitter vomit in the back of his throat.

He mumbles an excuse—he doesn't know what—and backs away, suddenly finding the whole affair abhorrent. Raito can have his lies and his funeral in love and honor; he will always remember the twisted, bloody figure on the floor, beaten and broken, and his pleading cries that in the end cannot stave off death. In the background, the mourners whisper condolences, promises, doomed to be broken. Raito's eyes stay closed; a smile seems to touch his lips, as the candlelight caresses his face—a deception of light and shadow.

The man holds still, thinking, as though Raito can still hear (never again), _at least for you it's all over. _Then he leaves, into the night, and the procession carries the boy and his bed away to his final rest.

_One of us, at least…will always remember._

_**end.**_

Author's Note: This is my first Death Note fic. I only came to realize the goodness that was Death Note in September, and since then…I've been _hooked. _Then I wanted to write something, and this was it. The funeral was purposely vague coz I didn't know how the Yagami family would arrange it…do you mind? I hope you like it, or at least, don't hate it to such an extent that flames abound.

T. Axile.


End file.
